Witchcraft
by PaperMoon2719
Summary: Gandalf calls her seer, Balin calls her a prophetess, and Thorin calls her Witch. She is Cassandra, and she is from a world where Thorin Oakensheild is nothing more than a character in a book. Rated M for language, adult content, and explicit sex. Thorin/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to JRR Tolkein. I won't apologize for the debauchery that might ensue regarding Thorin, but I will do my best to uphold the merit of the character, as well as all of the others. This fic will float back and forth between book and movie facts, for the sake of the plot. Enjoy!

* * *

When I wake up, my first thought is of the crazy dream I'd had last night. My second is that I need to skip the late night snacks. Apparently mini corndogs caused super realistic dreams of bearded wizards from movies bursting into my bedroom and waking me up with demands to get dressed and go with him. I roll over and breathe deeply. I can't smell the lavender and orange oil I diffused through the night, and instead my nose is filled with an old, musty smell. I wrinkle it, and groan.

"I don't want to wash the sheets," I whine, finally open my eyes… to a ceiling that isn't mine.

I bolt up, the scratchy blanket covering my chest falling to pool in my lap. I look around the room, taking in the modest, rickety furnishings. They're sparse, just the bed I'm on, a wardrobe against the far wall and a small table and chair shoved in the corner. I recognize the bag my sister bought me in India last summer. I vaguely remember stuffing it full of random things in my dream-that-may-not-have-been-a-dream.

Just as I'm beginning to panic, the door opens. I shoot out of the bed and into the corner of the room. I barely register that I'm only in my ratty old NYPD shirt as the wizard from my dream-that-may-not-have-been-a-dream walks into the room, his hat off but head bowed low. He has a plate with bread and cheese in one hand and a mug of something in the other.

He spots me in the corner and smiles as he kicks the door closed.

"Oh, good. You're awake," he says. I watch with wide eyes as he walks over to the table and sets down the plate and flagon.

"I thought you might prefer mead over ale, but I can get you something else if you'd like," he says, looking back up at me. I can't move, and he seems to know because he takes a seat at the foot of the bed and looks at me kindly.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he says, and his voice is incredibly reassuring. A sort of warmth flows over me, and my heart stops pounding. I take a deep breath, realizing it's the first one I've taken in a while. He speaks again as I sink onto the bed text to him.

"My name is-" he starts, but I interrupt him.

"Gandalf."

He smiles warmly at me. "I'm glad you remember. What else do you remember?"

I look away, closing my eyes tight. With a little concentration, it all comes back fairly easily.

"I was asleep and you came into my room. I didn't think it was real, because you're not real. You're just a character in a book. But you _are_ real, and you told me to pack a bag and come with you, that I was needed, because I'm a…"

My eyes snap open at the thought of the word he used, and I realize that's why I came with him.

"You called me a seer…" I whisper, and his face hardens.

"Yes, Cassandra. You're a seer," he says, and puts a hand on my knee. I want so badly to ask him what he means, but my stomach growls and I realize I'm starving.

"Eat," Gandalf instructs, motioning to the small table. "I need to go run an errand. I'll be back shortly."

I nod and he leaves. As soon as the door closes, I move to the table and eat. The bread is fresh and still slightly warm, and the cheese is mild and creamy. I don't even mind the mead, which I've never had. It's sweet, and has a beer-like taste. I decide I like it. Gandalf still hasn't returned by the time I've finished, so I pick up the bag. It's blue and gold, with an ornate design on it. A line of elephants marches around the center of it.

Inside I find an odd assortment of feminine products, a few bras and underwear, money (which I'm sure wouldn't be of much value here), jewelry (all costume, save for the gold diamond ring from my great-grandmother), and, most happily, my MP3 player and speaker. In my excitement I decide I really need to straighten out my priorities. I decide that I shouldn't waste the battery on my MP3 player, so I carefully tuck everything back inside.

I look around, realizing that I'm bored, and spot the window. I walk over to it and peek out behind the curtain. People watching has always been entertaining to me, and I'm not disappointed this morning. I have a good view of the road, and it's busy.

There's a line of ponies tied up in front of the Inn, which I can see is the Prancing Pony. People walk up and down the street, and I realize that "people" is a relative term here; from my untrained eye, I guess that most of them are, in fact, human. It's hard to distinguish men from dwarves at this angle, but I spot someone who I _know_ is a dwarf.

Thorin Oakensheild is in front of the Inn, talking heatedly with a man. He uses his arms, motioning wildly. I can hear him yelling, though I can't make out what he's saying. I almost wonder if he's not speaking English. The argument ends, and the man leaves in a huff. I watch as Thorin shakes his head and glares at his back. Suddenly he looks up, as if he knows I'm watching. He catches my eye and, unlike Gandalf, his glare only hardens. I want so badly to look away, but I can't.

I recognize Gandalf, and see that he has several packages in his arms. He exchanges words with Thorin, just as heated as the first conversation. Thorin gestures towards me several times. In the end, Gandalf shakes his head and walks away from the dwarf, making his way into the inn. Thorin sends me one last smoldering glare and I step back, letting the curtain fall.

I sit on the edge of the bed, wondering why Thorin is so angry at me, especially when I've never even met him. I don't have long to worry, though, as there's a light knock on the door. I assume it's Gandalf, so I call for him to come in.

I watch as he drops the packages he's holding at the foot of the bed. "I've gotten you some clothes," he says. "I wasn't sure of what you'd prefer, but trousers are always the best bet for riding. There are riding boots and a cloak, and a belt. I'll leave you to look through them."

Before I can thank him, he walks out. I attribute his shortness to the argument outside, and go about unwrapping the packages. Inside I find five shirts, three pairs of trousers, a belt, several pairs of socks, and one heavy fur-lined cloak.

I lay them all out, noticing that Gandalf chose tops in the same colors I probably would have: white, cranberry, evergreen, black, and a deep sandy beige. I hold one up and guess it will look like a peasant top when I'm wearing it. I change quickly, thankful that I wore waist trainers at home since the belt was thick enough to be more of a corset. I was right about the top, and liked the loose sleeves and wide open collar. I wasn't exactly flat chested, and tended to get hot if my chest was covered. I finished the ensemble with the boots (which fit perfectly), and opened the wardrobe to see if there was a mirror. There wasn't, so I made do with what I could see.

My hair, which had a wicked wild side, was in a mess on my head. I fluffed the curls with my fingers, and decide that I can pull off a rat's nest look here. I turn, rifling through the clothes and paper on the bed. I find a bag that Gandalf had also gotten for me, and I carefully fold and put everything in it. There's another knock on the door.

Gandalf enters a third time, staff in one hand and hat in the other. "Good, you're packed. We must take our leave now," he says. He still sounds annoyed, though not as much now. I nod, grabbing both bags and taking a look around the room. I know I'm not leaving anything since I don't have much to begin with. I nod to no one and follow Gandalf out of the small room and into the world.

* * *

I'd always loved horses, so I was in all my glory as Gandalf and I travelled to the Shire. He'd gotten me a horse back in Bree, a pinto with kind eyes and a mild temperament. And an affinity for the bushes along the path. As she walks, she occasionally grabs at branches that stick out, stripping the leaves from them. It makes Gandalf and I chuckle.

We talk during the ride, me telling him stories of my world, him telling me stories of his. I still hardly believe I'm here and part of me thinks I'm still dreaming. Another part of me knows this is real. The way the air smells, the sounds as we travel along the path, the feeling of the breeze- I know they're all real.

"Cassandra?"

I look over at Gandalf and raise my eyebrows. "I'm sorry?" I say, and Gandalf sighs.

"I asked if you would like to accompany me to our burglar's home, or if you would rather stay at the Green Dragon Inn until I come to get you," he says. I ponder it for a moment, and decide on the Inn. I'd like to see it.

"I'll stay at the Inn," I answer, and Gandalf nods. "Right. We'll be there in a few minutes."

* * *

I spend what feels like hours in the Green Dragon. I sip at a cool, crisp ale and watch the Hobbits scattered throughout the room from a table in the corner. They're rather fun to watch, and their laughs are incredibly contagious. I have to hold my own in several times.

Gandalf told me that I would know when it was time to meet him, and paid the barkeep enough to cover my dinner and drink until then. It's just after dark when I feel it, a gentle nudge. To be completely honest, I'm mostly relieved. I'd spent the last few hours wondering what would happen if I didn't know, and I just sat here all night. I'm also starting to get stir-crazy and it felt good to stand and stretch.

I shrug on my cloak and walk to the door. The barkeep calls goodnight and I turn and smile, wishing him a goodnight, too. When I walk outside its cool, and I breath in the clean air. I can feel it fill my lungs and I visualize all of the impurities I'd ever breathed in leaving them as I exhale.

"I should have figured as much."

I turn at the words, recognizing the voice instantly. Thorin stands a few yards from me, leaning against a fence post. I don't need any more light than that from the windows to see his look of annoyance. I try not to take it personally (though I know I probably should). I watch him turn and take a few steps, then stop and look at me again.

"Well? Are you coming, or would you like to stay there all night?" he barks, and I try not to glare. I walk to him, and he resumes his path. He walks quickly, and his gait is heavy. I can't see him as well now, just the light from the stars and moon lighting our path. It's a cloudy night, so the light is muted. No words are exchanged until he takes a right when I somehow know it's a left.

"It's this way," I say, and he turns and glares.

"What?"

I stop and look at him, pointing. "It's this way."

His glare sharpens. "Should have guessed as much, for a witch," he mutters, but brushes past me. The words knock the wind out of me.

"Excuse me?" I say, coming up behind him. He doesn't stop, so I grab at his cloak. He turns quickly, and I'm surprised to see he's several inches taller than me.

"I said 'should have guessed as much, for a witch'," he says slowly, as if I'm a toddler. My cheeks flush at his patronizing tone.

"I'm not a witch," I say, my voice low. I curse myself for the sting in my eyes. I cry when I'm angry, and it infuriates me. He scoffs, and I almost want to hit him.

"Witches, seers, soothsayers… you're all the same. Making your wares on the stupidity of those who believe in your words. You will not trick me into believing you have seen my fate, and the attempts of Gandalf the Grey will never change my mind," he growls, and I clench my fists. So, Thorin Oakensheild really doesn't trust anyone. He's also an infuriating douchewad. Part of me is surprised by my anger towards him; when I'd seen him on screen I'd always understood why he was the way he was. It helped me to forgive him. I guess that changed the moment I became the target of his anger and mistrust.

"Fine," I say, then curse myself at being horrible with words. A look of vague triumph flicks across his face before he turns away and returns to his quick, heavy gait. I follow him, by face and neck burning. I try to come up with things to say to him, ways to change his mind, but it all sounds stupid in my head.

How could I tell him that I know because I've seen it, not in my mind's eye, but on a screen, along with millions of people worldwide? How can I tell him that legions of people know his story because he's a character in a book? How can I tell him that I know he'll die because I've wept in my bed watching someone who _isn't_ him act it out?

My thoughts are interrupted by the slamming of a gate, and I look up to see that we've made it to Bag End. I push the gate open and follow Thorin up the steps. I glance to the window and see light inside, and then movement as Thorin bangs on the door. I stand a step behind him and he looks at me, his glare strong enough to burn holes. I find myself glaring right back, glad for once that it was a talent I possessed. Resting bitch face might finally come in handy.

The door opens and we both turn our attention towards it, and the tall wizard who is standing in its path.

"Gandalf," Thorin says, then starts to walk inside. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice."

I follow Thorin in, making eye contact with the dwarves crowding the doorway. I recognize Dwalin immediately. I unfasten my cloak as Thorin continues.

"I wouldn't have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door."

I pause, glaring at his back as he pulls off his own cloak. "And the help of a _witch_ ," I say sarcastically. He ignores me, but Gandalf glances between us, concern creasing his brow.

"Mark? There's no mark on that door, it was painted a week ago!"

Bilbo Baggins enters the room, and I'm once again to see that the height difference is not at all what I expected. Bilbo's head comes to my shoulders. I can feel my anger starting to give way to nerves when Gandalf closes the door.

"There is a mark," he says, looking at Bilbo. "I put it there myself."

He pauses, taking a breath before holding his hands out. "Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company: Thorin Oakensheild." I resist the urge to roll my eyes when Thorin's chest puffs. _Typical entitled alpha-male_ , I think.

"So…" he says, taking a step towards Bilbo and looking down his nose at him. "This is the Hobbit. Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?" Thorin circles Bilbo like a shark, and I know he only does it to assert his authority.

"Pardon me?" Bilbo asks, worried.

"Ax or sword? What's your weapon of choice?" Thorin presses. I can tell he knows the answer and is just playing with Bilbo. It makes me want to hit him even more.

Bilbo nods his head and says with a hint of pride, "Well, I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know…" Thorin stops when he's in front of him and crosses his arms over his chest. I see Bilbo stand a little taller. "But I fail to see why that's relevant."

Thorin smirks. "Thought as much." He looks back at the crowd of dwarves behind him. "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar," he says, and I hear the dwarves laugh. He looks briefly at me and I glare. I'm relieved when he walks away, and I realize my hands are shaking. Gandalf looks at his back and gives me an exasperated look.

"Bilbo Baggins, this is Cassandra," he finally says. The Hobbit looks at me warily, as if I might offer him insults as well. Instead, I smile at him. He gives a half bow, and asks if I'm Thorin's wife. I snort.

"God, no," I say. At the moment, I'm surprised that less than 24 hours ago I would have considered ever speaking to him civilly, let alone do all the things to his body I'd wanted to. I feel a fresh blush come to my cheeks.

Gandalf gently guides us into the kitchen. The dwarves are seated and I look around the table, but find no empty chairs. Dwalin presumably sees my search because he stands, offering me his chair with a wave of his hand. I can see the rest of the Dwarves eyeing me with various expressions. Some match Thorin's. Some, like Ori, show fear. Fili and Kili stare at me like I'm some exotic animal. The rest look at me with indifference. Dwalin nods when I thank him, and I'm glad to see that they don't _all_ hate me.

A bowl of stew is set down in front of me and my stomach turns- all of the anger has left it sour. Instead, I turn my attention to Balin.

"What news from the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?"

Thorin nods and looks around the table. "Aye. Envoys from all seven kingdoms," he answers. All of the dwarves exchange happy replies. Dwalin leans closer to me to see Thorin clearly. "And what did the Dwarves of the Iron Hills say?" he asks. Thorin takes another swallow of stew as Dwalin watches him expectantly. "Is Dain with us?"

Thorin's face changes, and his eyes fall on mine. The look in them pierces through the anger for a moment, and I almost reach out to touch his hand. I don't.

"They will not come," he answers quietly, looking at the table. My anger ebbs a little more. This is my first glimpse at the _real_ Thorin, the one who wants nothing more than to take his brothers home.

The Dwarves murmur as he continues, and I glance around. They all have varying emotions playing on their faces, but the overwhelming one is sadness.

"They say this quest is ours and ours alone."

Thorin meets my gaze one more time as he picks up his tankard of ale. I realize I don't have one, and wish I did. Somehow I'd become a borderline alcoholic in 12 hours. I guess that's what happens when you have mead for breakfast. Suddenly, Bilbo appears on Gandalf's other side.

"You're going on a quest?" he asks. I nearly laugh. I almost answer with "Yeah, genius, we all are" but I hold my tongue. Instead, Gandalf speaks for me.

"Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light."

Bilbo ducks out of the room as Gandalf stands, pulling a folded piece of parchment from his robes and continues as he unfolds it. "Far to the east, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single, solitary peak."

Bilbo returns with a lit candle and leans between Gandalf and Thorin.

"The Lonely Mountain," he reads slowly, and I remember his affinity for maps.

"Aye, Oin has read the portents. And the portents say it is time," Gloin says.

"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain, as it was foretold," Oin elaborates. "When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end."

An odd tingle flows through the room, and I wonder if Gandalf has anything to do with it. I glance at him as he puffs at his pipe. Again, my eye catches Thorin's and we watch each other. I drown out the conversation around me, focusing on him. The tingle starts again, at the back of my neck this time, and I realize its Thorin, though I don't know how.

It breaks as soon as the argument starts up and Thorin looks away, standing and shouting something in Dwarvish.

"If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them, too?" he asks, his fists clenched on the table top. "Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon, Smaug, has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing… wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others take what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?"

They all cheer, some of them chanting something in Dwarvish. Balin speaks up. "You forget, the front gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain." The Dwarves all look around at each other, the rallied excitement fading.

"Yes, there is," I say quietly. Everyone looks at me, and even Gandalf seems surprised that I've taken this moment to speak up. Thorin scoffs, and it's my turn to ignore him.

"There's a hidden passage on the side of the mountain," I continue, and Thorin interrupts me.

"A hidden passage that requires a key, one which we don't have," he says, and I'm relieved only to see that there's no smirk playing across his mouth.

"That is not entirely true," Gandalf says suddenly, and I look at him to see he's holding a large key on a leather cord. I hear a few gasps and Thorin looks at it as though he thought it was lost forever. "How came you by this?" he asks softly, his eyes not leaving the key.

"It was given to me by your father. By Thrain, for safekeeping," Gandalf explains. "It is your now." He passes it to Thorin, and I hear the rustle of fabric as the Dwarves watch the exchange closely. Fili is the first to speak.

"If there is a key… there must be a door," he ponders out loud. I can feel eyes on me. Balin stares across the table at me, and I swear I can see fondness in his eyes. Gandalf glances at me before pointing at what I recognize as Dwarvish runes written along the edge of the map.

"These runes speak of a hidden passage to the Lower Halls," he says. I hear Kili say softly but happily "There's another way in." Everyone glances at him and Gandalf answers.

"Well, if we can find it, but Dwarf doors are invisible when closed." He sighs, looking around. "The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map… and I do not have the skills to find it."

I feel eyes turn to me and I look up. "What about the lass? She's a seer, is she not? She can tell us where it's hidden!" Dwalin says. Gandalf shakes his head, saving me.

"That is not why she is here, Dwalin. It is not yet time for her to play her part." I look at Gandalf, and suddenly wonder what exactly he means by that. "But," he says, his tone picking up. "There are others in Middle Earth who can find it. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage." He looks pointedly at Bilbo.

"But if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done."

"That's why we need a burglar," Ori says. Bilbo agrees with a hum. "And a good one, too. An expert, I'd imagine." Gloin looks at him. "And _are_ you?"

Bilbo looks around, his thumbs hooked in his suspenders. Poor Hobbit. He really has no chance at all. "Am I what?" he asks.

Oin, who's hearing is rubbish, says "He said he's an expert, hey!" rather excitedly and the rest of the Dwarves chime in with equal excitement. Suddenly Bilbo realizes what's going on.

"Me? No. No, no, no. I'm not a burglar. I've never stolen a thing in my life."

"Well, I'm afraid I have to agree with Mr. Baggins," Balin says, looking between Gandalf and I. "He's hardly burglar material." Bilbo agrees with a quick "Nope".

I feel Dwalin lean in behind me. "Aye, the Wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves," he says. The words sting a little, especially since Thorin looks at me when they're said. It's rather obvious that Gandalf told him where I'm from and that I am no warrior. I've never held a sword in my life.

The arguing starts up again, some of them saying Bilbo will be fine, others disagreeing loudly. I feel the cold first, and then Gandalf rises behind me. I find myself wanting to cower. "Enough! If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, than a burglar he is. Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most, if they choose. And, while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of Dwarf, the scent of a Hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage."

Gandalf sinks into his seat again and looks at Thorin. "You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company and I have chosen Mr. Baggins. There's a lot more to him that appearances suggest. And he's got a great deal more to offer than any of you know… including himself."

He looks at Bilbo at these last words, and I can see that, through the terror in his eyes, the Hobbit is touched slightly by his words. Gandalf leans closer to Thorin.

"You must trust me on this."

The Dwarven king looks at him for a moment, his mouth opening. "Very well," he finally says. "We will do it your way."

Bilbo is disagreeing, but Thorin ignores him. "Give him the contract."

"We're in. We're off!" exclaims Bofur as Balin leans forward to hand Bilbo the contract. He takes it, even as the words "funeral arrangements" leaves Balin's mouth, and begins reading.

Thorin rises and leans close to Gandalf. "I cannot guarantee his safety," he says, his voice low. He glances at me. "Nor hers," he adds. I can hear the distaste in his tone. I narrow my gaze at him, my famous stank-eye returning.

"Understood," Gandalf says simply.

"Nor will I be responsible for their fates," Thorin presses. I want nothing more than to hit him in his stupidly attractive face. "Agreed," Gandalf mutters, then he looks at me. His pat on my knee is hardly reassuring.

I can hear Bilbo reading aloud, but I don't pay any attention. Everything has just started to feel truly _real_ and I realized that this is it. I was actually going to The Lonely Mountain, and I would face everything in between here and there. It was terrifying. And, if I made it out alive, where would I go? Would I stay in Erebor, maybe make a home in Dale? Thorin clearly hates me, so I assume that isn't really an option. Would I have to go find somewhere else to live? I start to panic a little.

I'm brought back to the present when I hear Bofur talking of the dragon.

"Aye. He'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye," he says, looking at Bilbo. Bilbo whimpers softly, looking as though he might pass out. Balin asks if he's alright and Bilbo lets out a weak "yeah, feel a bit faint". I know how he feels.

"Think furnace with wings," Bofur continues. "Flash of light, searing pain, the poof. You're nothing more than a pile of ash."

I look at Bilbo, whose face is pale, and lean forward a bit. "Someone might want to catch him," I say, and Thorin looks at me. There's a thud, and Bilbo is lying on the floor, contract still in his hand. Thorin's gaze hardens and I raise an eyebrow at him. Fine. If the Dwarf wants me to prove myself, I will. Starting with proving that I know what the hell I'm talking about.

* * *

I fully intend to wait patiently for Bilbo to find the Dwarves places to sleep, mainly because I'm hoping when he gets to me he'll say there's no more room and I'll have to go back to the Green Dragon. The tension is almost unbearable.

This doesn't happen, though. Thorin stands and announces I'll be staying in the same room as him.

"I want to keep an eye on the witch," he explains, and I'm too shocked to glare. I figured he would want to be as far away from him as possible. I start to protest, the anger from earlier seeping back into my veins and waking me up faster than any cup of coffee. Gandalf puts a hand on my knee and I look at him.

"Let him have his way for this one night. It might make him more comfortable with heeding your council," he says softly, then nods to Bilbo. I stand and send Gandalf one last reproachful look before following Thorin, feeling like cattle being led to slaughter.

The room Bilbo shows us is comfortable, and if not for the grouchy Dwarf who would be sharing it with me, I would find its homey furnishings warm and relaxing. Right now it feels like a prison cell.

I thank Bilbo and bid him goodnight (Thorin says nothing) and he closes the door softly. It feels as though he took all of the air in the room with him.

"So who gets the bed?" I finally ask, looking between Thorin and the piece of furniture in question. It looks like it would fit both of us, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to share a bed with him. I can almost guarantee he doesn't want to share one with me.

Thorin looks at me as if I'd asked if the sky is blue. "Is there even a question?" he grumbles. I'm only sure of what he means when he pulls off his belt and tosses it on the bed, turning his back to me. I stare at him in shock.

"Seriously?" I say in complete disbelief. He pulls off his coat, then looks at me again, an eyebrow raised.

"Surely you saw this, witch. Or have you been playing games with my brothers and I?"

"I'm not a witch!" I snap. I wouldn't be so offended at the word if he didn't spit it, like it was something vile, synonymous with whore. It makes my insides burn.

He doesn't reply, only turns away from me. He pulls off his shirt and my eyes can't help but be drawn to the scars peppered across his back. He must feel my stare because he turns. My eyes snap to his, but not fast enough. I see his smirk and I want to smack it off his face. Instead I roll my eyes and walk around the other side of the bed. I grab a pillow and the blanket at the foot of it before stomping over to the corner where a chair waits.

It's silent as we both remove our boots and I my bra. I find I don't care that he watches me. If he wants to see, fine. He climbs into the bed and I glare at him as I sit and pull the blanket up over myself, propping the pillow between my shoulder and the wall. He blows out the lone candle in the corner of the room and rolls over without a word.

I only last about two minutes. The pillow keeps slipping, and when I get it situated the blanket slips, and I'm starting to get a cramp in my neck. Throw in the light snores coming from the bed where Thorin is sleeping comfortably and I snap.

"This is ridiculous," I mutter. I stand, tossing the blanket aside as I shimmy out of my trousers. I grab the pillow and quickly pad over to the bed. There's a snort and a grunt as I yank back the covers.

"Move," I demand. I can see Thorin blinking at me and I feel his anger rising. My own flares and I'm sick of it. "I'm not sleeping in a fucking chair. Move over or I'll make you," I hiss. Whether because of his exhaustion or being in shock from being bossed around, he slides over just enough for me to slide in next to him.

The heat emanating off of him shocks me, but I hold my tongue. He's a living furnace. I stuff the pillow under my head and close my eyes. I can feel him beside me, muscles still tense. Finally he settles, rolling so his back is to mine. I can feel a foot bump mine under the covers. It draws back quickly and that's the last thing I remember before I fall asleep.

* * *

When I wake up I'm insanely comfortable. It's warm and soft and there's a solid weight pressed up against my back. It takes me a moment to realize that it's Thorin, and I start to tense.

His face is buried in my curls and I can feel his hot breath at the back of my neck. I slowly become more aware of where he's touching me. One arm is under the pillow beneath my head, and the other is wrapped around my waist. I can feel his hand on my ribs under my shirt, his fingers curled around me. His thumb is tucked in the crease under my breast.

His chest is pressed firmly against my back and I can feel every muscle. His nipples are pebbled against my shoulder blades. The rest of his body follows the curve of mine; I can feel his length against my lower back, soft but still quite large. He has one knee shoves between mine. I can feel his thigh, thick and strong, pressed against me. The twitch I feel is both unwanted and delicious, and I pray to whatever god exists here that he's a deep sleeper.

Suddenly Thorin moans low in his sleep, and I feel him start to stiffen against my back. I close my eyes tightly and swallow my own moan as my body betrays me. I start to moisten and I can feel my muscles flexing in anticipation of sex that isn't coming. Damn, I wish I had been laid recently. Maybe my body wouldn't be so sensitive to the slightest hint of intimacy.

I gasp when Thorin rocks his hips against my back, his thigh pressing sinfully into my folds. I moan as he continues to move against me, burying my face in the pillow. I can feel him thick and pulsing against my back. I'm half way to an orgasm when the hand on my ribs tightens, and I hear Thorin growl into my hair.

"What have you done to me, witch?" he grinds out before rolling onto me. He pins me on my stomach, using the leg between my own to pry my thighs apart. He takes the hand that was under my head and slips it under my hips, tilting them up so he can slot his hot length against me.

"Is this what you want, witch? For me to ravage you, to make you beg for me to be inside you?" He thrusts roughly against me and I cry out, fisting the sheets. "You want me to make you scream as I drive you to completion? To bruise your womb as I spill my seed inside you?"

I find myself letting out a strangled "Yes!" and nearly sobbing when he pulls his hips away from mine. I can feel him freeing himself from his breeches, then his fingers shoving my panties out of the way. His fingers slip between my folds and against my clit and I cry out, pressing back against him.

"I'll teach you to tease me like this, witch," he growls, then slams into me and…

The pillow is pulled out from under my head and the blankets yanked back. I yelp, opening my eyes and blinking against the sunlight.

"It's time to leave. Dress, now. We will not wait for long," Thorin says, dropping the blanket on the floor and walking out of the room.

I sit up slowly, my heart still racing. It all felt so real, and the wet spot between my legs proves it. I curse myself, hoping that I hadn't been talking in my sleep. If he didn't already hate me, he would if he'd known what debauchery I had been dreaming about. I sigh and run a hand over my face, resisting the urge to lower it between my thighs.

"I don't have time," I quietly tell myself. As I grab my clothes I vow to try to sneak off alone later that night, as long as I can keep my mind off of Thorin and his manly male muscles (including the specific one I longed for) for the remainder of the morning.

I laugh, then mutter "Who am I kidding?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to JRR Tolkein. I won't apologize for the debauchery that might ensue regarding Thorin, but I will do my best to uphold the merit of the character, as well as all of the others. This chapter is a bit more sexual than the last, and it's going to be pretty much this level from here on out. For the sexually squeamish, beware!

 **Just for reference:** Gypsy, Cassandra's horse - www pinterest com/pin/373095150363494099/ (add the dots)

* * *

When I make it out to the front walk, everyone is there. Well, almost. Bilbo isn't and I know he's still inside Bag End, asleep. I adjust the bag over my shoulder and look around.

"Well?" Dwalin demands, looking past me. "Where's the Hobbit?"

I look around to see them all staring expectantly at me, as if I'm about to go into a trance or start spewing smoke from my ears or start chanting in tongues. I only shrug.

"Inside," I answer simply, then push my way through them to stand next to Gandalf. I hear them murmur, and look around at them again.

"What?" I demand. My own courage scares me a little. I blame it on the lack of sleep the night before. I can feel a clench between my legs at memories of this morning and I mentally slap myself.

"Well, lass, it's just…" Dwalin says, then looks around. "We expected you'd convince him. Bein' a Seer and all…"

His voice trails off at the end and I nearly roll my eyes. But something inside me stops me, and my inner drama queen appears front and center. She knows just what to say, even if the part of me that wants Thorin to trust me keeps her from using a Madam Leota voice.

"He is the only one who can convince himself," I say vaguely. I see Gandalf smirk. "He'll join us. Just give him time."

"Well, if the Hobbit is, in fact, joining us, he'll have to hurry to keep up. We must take our leave," Thorin says. He pushes past me without so much as a glance. I give Gandalf a solemn look and fall into step beside Ori. He looks at me and opens his mouth like he wants to say something but changes his mind. I smile at him and he blushes, but smiles back.

' _Well, maybe I'll make at least one friend,'_ I think, and hitch my bag a little higher on my shoulder.

* * *

I had officially hit the wrongness jackpot. I glared at Thorin's back, wishing I could burn holes through his shirt and add to the marks on his back. Once again, he'd insisted that I ride directly behind him, so he could "keep an eye on the witch". I'd nearly thrown a fit when Gandalf allowed him to pull my horse (who I'd named Gypsy) up right next to his. My only consolation was that Gypsy was a few hands taller than his steed, so I sat taller than him and kept my mouth shut. Mostly out of spite.

That lasted about an hour. I was slightly jealous when Bilbo arrived and Gandalf fell back, especially when the hearty banter started up behind Thorin and me. He was a horrible conversationalist, and whenever I tried to start up a conversation with Gloin, who was riding next to us, I'd get a smoldering glare. Eventually I gave up and slumped a little in my saddle.

I spent the morning and most of the afternoon watching the road. When we stopped for the night (which everyone insisted on, not just Bilbo), I dismounted and found myself in near blinding pain. I'd suffered from bursitis in my hips since I was a child, and riding all day had clearly exacerbated the issue. I hissed and had to hold onto the saddle to keep from falling to my knees, the pain was so bad. It felt as though there were needles in my hips.

"You alright there, lass?" Dwalin asks, coming up behind me. It seemed he was the only one who didn't care about Thorin's distrust of me. He'd sat next to me through all of lunch, despite Thorin's scowls.

I nod and try to take a step, but pain shoots through to my lower back and I wince. "Ah. Yer not used to ridin'," he says, and I glance at him pathetically. He chuckles, then picks me up bridal style. I protest, but he ignores me as he carries me over to a large rock and sets me down on the ground against it.

"Stay here. We'll worry about making camp," he tells me gently. I start to protest again but he gives me a stern look. "You are no good to us if you can't walk. Rest up," he commands. I obey, even though I see Thorin looking at me and exchanging angry words with Dwalin as soon as he walks away.

The Dwarves make camp quickly; a fire is soon crackling at my feet, the horses' tack is removed and laid carefully on the surrounding boulders, and bedrolls are scattered around the general area. Within a few minutes several of the Dwarves have fallen asleep and I can see Gandalf across for me, smoking his pipe against the base of a tree. Thorin is sitting on the rock I'm leaning against, my head next to his hip. The fur lining his coat keeps tickling my cheek.

I'm watching the fire when I see Bilbo stand in my peripheral vision. He walks over to Myrtle and gives her an apple. I grin when he pats her forehead. Gypsy sidles over and nuzzles at his pocket and I wonder what he has in it, or if she's just curious.

Suddenly there's a screech, far off but I still straighten. My hips protest, but I lean forward.

"What was that?" Bilbo asks, turning and coming towards us. I know the answer before Kili says it out loud.

"Orcs."

Bilbo repeats the word, louder, and I feel Thorin flinch beside me. He sits up and I turn to look at him. He's scanning the area in the direction the sound came from.

"Throat-cutters," Fili says. "There'll be dozens of them out there. The lone-lands are crawling with them."

"They strike in the wee-small hours of the morning when everyone's asleep," Kili chimes in. "Quick and quiet, no screams. Just lots of blood."

I look at them, knowing they're trying to scare Bilbo. They're scaring me, too. They look at each other and start to chuckle. I feel Thorin tense beside me.

"You think that's funny?" he asks, standing. He walks away from me, treading on the blanket laid across my lap. "You think a night raid by Orcs is a joke?"

The twins look guilty, and don't look their Uncle in the eye. "We didn't mean anything by it," Kili mutters apologetically. I feel for him, knowing what it's like to be at the receiving end of Thorin's grumpy nature.

"No, you didn't," Thorin says low, walking away. "You know nothing of the world."

We watch him walk away, wishing I could get up and go to him. The resentful part of me is glad I can't. Still, I know what he's thinking of. I don't have to be a Dwarf to understand his reaction.

"Don't mind him, laddie," Balin suddenly says, walking over to us. I look up at him and he gives me a kind smile. "Thorin has more cause than most to hate Orcs," he explains. I look back to Thorin, who's standing by the horses, his hands clasped behind his back. I smile a little when Gypsy walks over to him and inspects his pockets for tidbits.

"After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain," Balin continues, and I listen as I watch the Drawf King closely, "King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient Dwarf kingdom of Moria. But our enemy had got there first. Moria had been taken by legions of Orcs, led by the most vile of all their race: Azog the Defiler. The giant Gundabad Orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. He began by beheading the king."

My stomach turned and I realized I had tears in my eyes. Balin went on. "Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing. Taken prisoner or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us. That is when I saw him. A young Dwarf prince, facing down the pale Orc. He stood alone against this terrible foe. His armor rent, wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield. Azog the Defiler learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken. Our forces rallied, and drove the Orcs back. And our enemy had been defeated. But there was no feast, nor song that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived. And I thought to myself then… there is one who I could follow. There is one I could call king."

By the time Balin has finished recounting the battle, the Dwarves are all standing, watching their king. I'm glad that they block me from view as I sit and wipe away tears. This was different from hearing it in a movie, this was _real_.

"And the pale Orc?" Bilbo asks, looking back at Balin. "What happened to him?"

"He slunk back into the hole whence he came," Thorin growls, walking back up to us. I try to hide my face but fear he saw me. "That filth died of his wounds long ago."

I look up as Thorin walks past us, and I catch Gandalf's eye. He nods softly at me and I look at him quizzically. I put my hands down, intending to adjust myself, when I feel something cold against my palm. I look down and see something glinting in the dirt, so I pick it up to examine it. It's a bead, and I recognize it as the same one Thorin wore at the end of each of his plaits.

I look back up at Gandalf, who has a mischievous glint in his eye. Realizing that he wants me to go after Thorin, I nearly groan out loud. I make a face at Gandalf, silently pleading to have the night off from Thorin's temper, but he continues to stare me down. I finally cave, rolling my eyes before pushing myself to my feet. Dwalin looks at me, but I nod. I see his mustache move, and know he disapproves, but I ignore him.

Most of the pain in my hips is gone, but it's replaced by a stiff soreness that is more frustrating than anything. I move slowly around the boulder to find Thorin laying out his bedroll. I make sure to be noisy, not wanting to sneak up on him, and he turns.

"What, come to cast a spell on me, witch?" he jests halfheartedly. It would seem he's as tired as I am. I don't try to correct him, just hold up the bead.

"You dropped this," I say softly. He looks at it and then me suspiciously, then holds out his hand. I walk towards him, my gait stiff, and drop it in his large hand. He rolls it in his fingers, then looks at my hips. He sighs, then jerks a head towards the bedroll.

"Lie down," he instructs, and I just stare at him. He raises an eyebrow at me. "I can help the pain, but you must lie down."

"Oh…kay," I say slowly, then walk over to the bedroll. I lower myself down onto it slowly and watch as Thorin shrugs off his coat. He lays it neatly over a nearby boulder and drops to his knees.

"On your back," he instructs, and I obey, albeit hesitantly. I wonder what he's going to do to me, and almost ask if he's going to be casting a spell of his own. Instead I hold my breath and wait for him to do whatever he has in mind.

I jump when I feel his hand on my calf, holding it as be pulls off my boot. "Relax," he instructs, and I try to. He removes my other boot, his thumbs pressing gently into the balls of my feet. I lean up and look at him, and he immediately tells me to lie back down and try to relax.

It becomes exponentially harder to do that when I feel his hands move up my legs, gently massaging the sore muscles there. I tense when he gets to my thighs, and I can feel myself getting wet. God _damn_ , the effect he has on me. I stifle a moan the closer he gets to my hips, the circles being massaged into them sending waves of pleasure through my body.

He finally comes to my hips and lets go, his torso leaned over mine. I look up into his eyes, his hair falling in a curtain around my face. It's soft and smells of pine and wood smoke.

"Let out your breath when I tell you to," he says softly, and I nod. His right hand drifts down my side to my hip, then his hand slips under me hand he grasps the back of my thigh. "Now," he instructs, and lifts my thigh to his hip as I start to exhale. It turns into a moan as I feel every muscle in my leg stretch, all the way into my back.

"Oh, sweet baby Jesus," I keen, my hands instinctively going to his shoulders. He lets me keep them there as he pushes my knee closer to my body, gently moving it in small circles to loosen my hip. He does this for what seems like hours, alternating between my legs, me moaning the entire time like some wanton whore. I really don't care, only worried about how I could possibly have this many muscles in my leg and never wanting him to stop.

When he eventually does, my eyes are closed and my head is tossed back in pure ecstasy. My legs, and the rest of my body, feel wonderful and I feel like I'm floating. When I finally do open my eyes, Thorin is staring at me. I see his Adam's apple bob a few times, and I can feel his hips shaking.

I swallow, then lick my dry lips, desperately wanting to know what's going through the king's mind. I see his eyes bounce to my mouth, and when his mouth slowly lowers to mine, I don't believe it's actually happening. It starts slow, just a gentle brush of his lips on mine. When I don't pull away the kiss deepens, his tongue running wetly against my lower lip.

I moan and part my lips, letting him explore my mouth while my hand travels to the base of his skull to tangle in the curls there. I feel his hips give out and he lowers them to mine, and we moan in tandem as I feel his hot length rub against me through three layers of clothing.

Hoping this isn't a dream, I suck on his tongue, drawing another gravelly moan from him. I really could do just this for the rest of my life and die a very happy woman. I can feel his hips trembling against mine, and I lower the hand not tugging at his hair to his (very firm) ass. I squeeze, causing him to pull away and gasp.

"For the love of Mahal, move," I say, using one of the few words I knew in Dwarvish. He gives me a small glare but rolls his hips experimentally. I gasp, my eyes rolling into the back of my head. He latches onto my exposed neck and sucks hard as he starts moving against me at a steady pace. The hand in his hair tightens and I urge him on with my gasps and moans. He pulls away from my neck with a loud pop and I know there's going to be a mark tomorrow. I decide I don't care when his tongue licks its way back into my mouth.

I can feel myself getting close and I raise my knees to his hips, squeezing tightly. He pulls away from my mouth and I can feel his hot breath on my face. "I want to be inside you," he breathes into my mouth, and I moan, my hips bucking up against his. He growls, then pulls away. I let out a strangled whine before he grabs at my hips urging me to turn onto my stomach. I think back to my dream and a delicious clench of my muscles has me moaning as I do so.

I flip onto my belly and he quickly tugs me up onto all fours. I can hear the rustle of fabric and I turn my head, peering over my shoulder at him. He's tugging his breeches open and I see his long, hard length fall free when he gets the ties undone. He turns his attention to my own trousers, reaching around the front to undo the ties and tug them and my panties down over the curve of my ass. He moans audibly when he sees me, pulsing and leaking for him.

"I'm going to teach you to tease me, witch," he growls, and before I can even begin to wonder why he chose those words, he slides into me in one fluid motion. We both moan and he starts thrusting into me at an alarming pace. It's not long before I'm coming like a freight train, my muscles spasming around him as I do my best not to cry out. He thrusts into me a dozen more times before I hear him grunt. He pulls out of me quickly, leaving me empty, my muscles still clenching. I hear the tell-tale sound of flesh on flesh and look around just in time to see the look of pure ecstasy on Thorin's face as he fists himself to completion.

I come again, not quite as hard, as I watch him come, long, pearly ribbons shooting from him and into the dirt beside the bedroll. He sits back on his heels, squeezing a few last drops from himself. He opens his eyes to see me looking at him and I blush. He only smirks before tucking himself into his breeches. He winces, still sensitive, and I almost smirk back.

I slowly rise to my knees and pull my own trousers up before mimicking him and sitting back on my heels. I brush the curls out of my face and let out a breath through pursed lips. Thorin puts a hand on my hip and I turn, and he presses his lips to mine in a languid kiss. When he finally pulls away I chase his mouth and he chuckles.

"Wait here," he murmurs, and I nod softly. I watch him rise and walk back into the direction the rest of the company is in. He's gone a few minutes, and when he returns he's carrying several blankets and another bedroll.

I watch as he arranges the bedroll next to the one I'm now sitting cross-legged on, then drops the blankets in a heap. He walks over and grabs his coat and rolls it. Just as he's moving it over my head, the same bead falls out of the pocket and into my lap. He barely glances at it as he arranges the coat, then sits and starts removing his boots. I hold the bead while he arranges the blankets over us, looking at the intricate design it's molded into. I'm growing fond of the geometric designs of Dwarves, I decide.

He finally lays down on his back next to me, then looks up at me expectantly. I hold up the bead, my eyebrows raised in silent question. He groans in annoyance but sits up, his hands pulling a section of hair out along the left side of his face.

"May I?"

I'm not entirely sure why I ask, and immediately fear that I've crossed a line. For all I know this is a very private thing and there's some special meaning behind it I don't know about. Thorin looks at me for a moment and I'm about to say "Nevermind" when he nods. He folds his hands in his lap and looks at me closely as I reach out to him.

I gasp when he pulls me into his lap, his face inches from mine in a moment. He nods again and I gather the same section of hair in my hands and begin braiding. It takes a few minutes to do, especially since his hair is so long and I'm trying to make the braid as neat as possible. His incessant staring doesn't exactly help my nerves, either. I finally finish and he shows me how to use the bead to secure the braid. We end with one final kiss, his tongue poking briefly into my mouth.

"Now, sleep," he instructs. I smile softly and nod, rolling off him. As if on cue I yawn, finding the pile of blankets very inviting all of a sudden. I lay my head on his coat, the scent of him filling my nostrils. I feel him stretch out beside me, his arm immediately encasing my body. The night is cold, but his body heats the space under the blanket to a comfortable temperature. I close my eyes, feeling Thorin bury his face in my curls, his breath hot on my neck. I begin to think back to the dream I'd had and my brain starts picking it apart, wondering why there are so many similarities to what actually happened, but Thorin starts humming and I quickly fall into a deep sleep.

* * *

I don't know where I am. It's cold and dark. I shiver and wrap my arms around myself, noticing that I'm wearing a long black dress. The sleeves are sheer and provide no insulation from the frigid air around me.

My eyes slowly adjust and I look around. I'm in when looks like an old fortress, one that fell centuries ago. It's nothing but ruins now, and the entire cavern shines with a cold blue hue. I turn, looking for a way out. Something about this place makes my stomach turn, and I realize it's the stench of death all around me.

Suddenly, without any warning, I feel my feet start to move. I try to stop, try to keep my feet from treading on the sharp rocks that dig into them, but I can't. I begin to panic when I see a dark shadow start to form and I realize I'm heading right for it. I can hear a voice in my head, deep and cold. I can't understand what it's saying, but I _know_ that it- that _he_ \- wants me. The shadow takes form and I see a gargantuan black knight walking towards me, his hand outstretched. I want to shrink away from him but I can't, and there's searing pain when his hand touches my forehead.

I cry out, screaming for mercy as images run through my mind. Fili and Kili thrown from a ledge, Bilbo lying in the snow with his throat cut, Dwalin's body torn and bleeding, Balin cleaved nearly in half, Gandalf lying bloodied and broken on a stone floor, his eyes upturned and unseeing. Azog the Defiler, holding Thorin's severed head by the scalp, roaring in triumph. I scream that I can't take it, that I won't watch them die, that I'm not strong enough. I feel a jolt, arms holding my shoulders, fingers biting and bruising. I regain control of my arms and start flailing them, fists tightened. I collide with something several times but I keep swinging, wanting to do as much damage to this shadow as I can. I hear Thorin's voice calling my name and I scream again, knowing it's a trick.

My eyes snap open and the first thing they see is deep cobalt. I'm lying on the ground where I had fallen asleep. Thorin is over me, crowding my space. I see his lip is bloodied and I realize it had all been a dream, that he had been at the receiving end of my punches. They weren't dead, none of them, and I was safe. I let out a strangled sob and Thorin tugs me into his chest.

"You were all dead," I sob, grasping at whatever piece of clothing I could. "All of you… Gandalf, Bilbo, Dwalin…. Everyone." Thorin shushes me, one hand on my back rubbing soft circles, the other on the back of my head, his fingers tangled in the curls. I press my face into his chest, my tears soaking his shirt.

"Everything is fine," I hear Thorin say, then hear the metallic slide of weapons being resheathed. "She's had a nightmare."

"A vision," I hiccup quietly. I feel the tension again and Thorin leans away from me. He grasps my shoulders and I wince, his fingertips digging into the bruises that were already forming. "What?" he asks, and I can see his eyes darkening with anger. It would seem that he's remembering what I am and he clearly doesn't like it.

"It was a vision," I say louder, and wipe away the tears from my face. He lets go of me and stands grabbing his coat.

"I do not believe in such things," he growls, glaring at me. I glare right back, the stress of the dream causing me to snap back. "Fine! Don't believe it!" I hiss, standing up and walking over to him. I poke a finger into his chest.

"But don't you dare expect me to just sit by while your stupid arrogance gets us all killed!"

I turn and grab my boots and bedroll before stalking back to camp, fuming.

* * *

The weather that day does nothing to help my bad mood. By midday I'm soaked and shivering, and I do all I can to not lay down in my saddle and lean into Gypsy's neck for warmth. The only saving grace is that it seems Thorin has finally decided that he wants nothing to do with me, so he doesn't protest when I fall into line behind Balin. I listen to the banter as we travel, not finding any of it of interest. Instead I glower at the back of Thorin's head.

This goes on for three days. We spend the entire 72 hours completely ignoring one another. We don't speak, we don't touch. We barely look at one another. We sleep at opposite ends of the camp from one another. I grow used to the anxious looks from the other Dwarves.

By the fourth day the tension is so thick that it can be cut with an ax. Thorin decided to stop earlier than normal at a burned farmhouse, and we all dismount. I'm vaguely aware of Gandalf wandering around the building, inspecting it.

I'm pulling my bedroll from the saddle when I hear Gandalf from inside the farmhouse.

"A farmer and his family used to live here," Gandalf ponders softly. I glance at him, tucking my bedroll under my arm before pulling my bag down from the saddle. I try to ignore Thorin as he marches around, barking out orders. I'm glad when he ignores me in return. I smile softly at Kili as he comes to collect Gypsy, and I pat her softly on the forehead. I remembered an hour ago that our journey together would be over by dawn tomorrow, and it put a lump in my throat that's still there. She's a good steed, and I can only hope she finds a new home.

"I think it would be wiser to move on," Gandalf suddenly says loud enough for the entire company to hear. I look over at him to see him make his way out of the burnt remains of the house, but Thorin blocks his path.

"We could make for the Hidden Valley," Gandalf says. I have to stifle a groan when it reminds me of the fact that I haven't had a good salad in a long while, knowing that no one here would understand the correlation. I watch as Thorin walks fully into the structure, listening to the conversation.

"I have told you already," he says, brushing past Gandalf. "I will not go near that place."

I almost roll my eyes, then turn away and spread out my bedroll. I can still hear them arguing. My spirits brighten a little when Gandalf mentions the Elves. I was most excited to see them. And sleep in a real bed.

As Thorin's telling Gandalf he doesn't need any advice from the Elves, Dwalin comes up beside me and looks at me. I look back at him, my eyebrows raised. He only looks at me in silence.

"What?" I finally ask, tugging off my coat. It's still slightly damp and it smells of mildew. I need a bath desperately.

"Don't take it to heart, lass," he finally says. I only stare at him, my eyebrows raised. "Don't take what to heart?" I finally ask. I glance at Balin, who's trying not to make eye contact. Dwalin clears his throat and looks briefly towards Thorin. My jaw tightens, knowing his next words.

"The way he's been treatin' you," he clarifies. I straighten, crossing my arms over my chest. I raise a single eyebrow, daring him to continue. "It's just, it's been a while since he was with a woman, and there's so much ridin' on you," he continues. He's rambling and I can tell there's something he wants to say but thinks he can't. I decide to help him out.

"What are you talking about, Dwalin?" I say, vaguely aware of Gandalf stomping off, complaining about the stubbornness of Dwarves. I'm starting to see it. Dwalin shifts, glances at Thorin again, then looks back at me. "Well, he would be concerned about the line of Durin should his queen be a seer, wouldn't he?" he says slowly. The urge to throw up is overwhelming and I look at Thorin. Queen? Me? This has got to be some sort of prank. I wait a moment to see if Fili and Kili are going to jump out and yell "Just kidding!". When they don't, I start to panic. And by "panic", I mean get angry.

"Oh," I say, narrowing my gaze into a glare. "No, we wouldn't want some witch tainting the pure line of Durin, would we? We wouldn't want for Dwarves to make fun of him, now," I grind out, my teeth clenched tightly. I turn to walk away, and Dwalin puts a hand on my shoulder. "I didn't mean-" he starts, but I cut him off.

"No, Dwalin. You did. You also assumed that I would _want_ to be that asshat's queen, which I _don't_ ," I growl, then glance around at the Dwarves. Most of them are looking at us. I roll my eyes, cursing the tears that are forming in them. "What happened between Thorin and I is _private_ ," I say, glowering around at all of them. Dwalin opens his mouth to say something more, but I hold up a hand and shake my head. "You've said more than enough."

The tears fall as I walk back the way we came, and I wipe them away as the Dwarves watch me go.


End file.
